Trying Too Hard
by Atellix
Summary: Florence's reflection of 4x05 - DI Goodman is trying too hard to stay busy, and Florence thinks she might know why. (Spoilers if you haven't seen the episode yet).


**Disclaimer:** None of these brilliant characters belong to me. They belong to the BBC and other writers and creators more brilliant than I.

 **Author's Note:** I've been trying to battle my writer's block and have returned to my roots in fanfiction. I am currently working my way through one of the many 100 themes/prompts list. This one is for #72 - Pretense. I'm a sucker for DI Humphrey Goodman, and his hurt in Season Four is something that breaks my heart. So, spoilers for Episode 4x05.

 **Trying Too Hard**

He's hurting. She can see it so clearly.

At first, she mistakes it as sheer enthusiasm. He's excited to get back to work, to bury himself in his next case. Like a man trying to hide from something, trying to run from something.

It's the murder of a band. He hears the name and is excited, overjoyed even. He makes a big show about knowing the band, wanting to know more (something, she discovers, is an exaggeration on account of an old flame). As he listens to the music from the band's recording session, trying to decipher it for clues, he begins drumming and singing along to himself. He busies himself with the mysterious bug they found at the crime scene, returning to its crime scene bag regularly, talking to it, thinking aloud.

She had seen what he was like before. With _her._ And this is different. This is him trying just a bit too hard.

To anyone on the outside looking in, they would consider him eccentric, maybe even a little bit brilliant. And they would be right, he is eccentric. But Florence can see it, in the smaller moments. When he's fumbling for a writing instrument and she's ready with a pen. When he wants to observe something from the crime scene and she's ready with the tweezers or to bag the item and process it. It's there, but only for a moment. Like watching a man with amnesia suddenly get a flicker of a memory before it's gone again. That look of loss, of looking for the familiarity of something and suddenly finding it gone yet again. It's just a glimmer, and then he's back and finding clues and solving crimes, and she can't see it anymore. Hidden behind the humbling and bumbling and brilliance that is just so Humphrey Goodman.

She considers not telling him about the letter. She struggles with it for the better part of a day, and when no opportunities come up, she decides to keep it to herself. After all, what good would it do?

But then he gets that look. That sadness. Even as he's thanking her for all that she's done, how good she was on the case after they solved it. And there it is.

She knows he hasn't heard from her. He probably thinks that she's forgotten all about him, has moved on to Paris and moved on from him and has never looked back. And he couldn't be more wrong.

She considers saying something after he compliments Florence on her crime-solving skills. And again after he congratulates her on her deduction skills. But then he begins to lead his next parade of praise, and she knows it's time.

"Every time I've lost the plot, or couldn't find a piece of evidence, or literally have had nowhere to turn, there you were." He stops, like he's stumped himself on how to continue, fumbling for words and finding only sounds. Finally, he adds, "It's like we've been partners for years."

And all through the praise, there it is. That sadness that coats the satisfaction, the bittersweet acknowledgement that someone else has succeeded in being just as good for him as _she_ was. And Florence's heart breaks just a little.

So she tells him. Tells him about hearing from Camille, about the letter Camille wrote to her with instructions on "how to deal with him" (although the phrase Camille had used in her letter was "how to support his brilliance"). And with every word Florence says, she sees a brick in the wall he's built come crumbling down, leaving his vulnerability completely evident in his eyes.

And that's when she realizes the full purpose of the charade. That it's not just hurt he is experiencing. It's heartbreak.

But, as soon as it appears, it's gone. The wall is rebuilt, and he's up and asking her to dance. He tells her it's because the song is "a good and happy tune", but Florence knows better.

He's stayed too long in the sadness, and he needs a distraction. And so he goes to extremes again and tries too hard.

And so she dances and tries to help as best she can. She'll be there and help support him and solve crimes. And hopes that one day, one way or another, that he won't have to try so hard.

Because, maybe, one day, the hurt will be gone.

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 **Encourage a fellow author and leave a review please!**


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